


Executive Duplicity

by ezlebe



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - John Wick (Movies) Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Implied past torture, M/M, Misunderstandings, breakup makeup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ezlebe/pseuds/ezlebe
Summary: “Administrator,” an operator says, pausing beside his desk with a low hum and a curling sort of smile. “A sphinx has set itself up at our door.”The Administrator places one finger at a line on his books before looking up with a bland stare. “Did he ask you to call him that?”“No,” the operator says, her smile growing with further amusement.“Then I encourage you not to again,” the Administrator says, standing from his desk while reaching out to grab his cigarettes from the drawer. “His ego is large enough.”
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Executive Duplicity

“Administrator,” an operator says, pausing beside his desk with a low hum and a curling sort of smile. “A sphinx has set itself up at our door.”

The Administrator places one finger at a line on his books before looking up with a bland stare. “Did he ask you to call him that?”

“No,” the operator says, her smile growing with further amusement.

“Then I encourage you not to again,” the Administrator says, standing from his desk while reaching out to grab his cigarettes from the drawer. “His ego is large enough.”

He makes his way down narrow halls and through mag-locked doors, nodding to passing operators before stepping into a lift that takes him to its single destination of a darkened storefront. He pauses at the door to the street, hand tightening on the handle as he takes a deep breath, then pushes it open, stepping over a threshold that reduces him from Administrator to simply Oswald.

A conspicuous man sits stretched out next to the door with his back flush against the brick, wearing a modern, if bright, green suit, a bag at his side and a gold cane spinning in hand; the question mark shape of an industrial bar gleams from an ear when he looks up. “I fade in a flicker, narrow and pale,” he says, his conversation opener predictable as he props himself up with a press of his head against the wall. “My life spent reducing my shell.”

Oswald frowns in response, then sighs, leaning slightly and retrieving the pack from his back pocket. He clicks his tongue while he taps out a cigarette. “I must admit, I’m surprised you listened.”

Ed responds with the usual half-mad grin. “I’m a little offended you don’t think me capable.”

“You’re capable,” Oswald says, shielding his zippo from imaginary wind while tapping at the igniter. He inhales at the first spark, then exhales slow, watching the air fill with that first cloud of comforting poison. “But you didn’t have time to plan.”

Ed keeps quiet a few seconds, staring upward steadily, then shrugs with a slump forward. “He wouldn’t have played, anyway. Boring.”

“You’ll have pick of the contracts after the loss of who did go after him,” Oswald says, staring out across the milling crowd of nightlife and trying not to think too hard about the High Table making an active battleground out of _his_ city. “Maybe someone will have a grudge against a research librarian.”

“Yeah,” Ed mutters, practically wistful at the suggestion.

Oswald rolls his eyes and politely offers the cigarette. “…Who _did_ go after him?”

“The Valeska twins,” Ed says, surprising with a lean in to take the filter, not with his hands but directly between his lips, and inhaling a deep pull of nicotine. He’s not usually one for smoking, but maybe it’s something to do with how his unofficial home is likely being blown to bits across town. “Of course.”

“Zsasz?” Oswald asks, shoving the cigarette between his own lips, doing his best to ignore the flush he feels crawling up his neck. 

Ed is quiet a length, then grunts, “Not sure, actually.”

Oswald nods slowly, exhaling smoke while letting the silence settle, and somewhat surprised that Ed allows it. Granted, they haven’t seen each other in weeks, not since an accidental sighting at the Continental where Ed proceeded to practically stage an escape, so perhaps they don’t have much to say to each other.

It doesn’t do much to explain why Ed is here tonight, if that’s the case.

“Would you have?” Ed asks, and a quick glance downwards confirms his grin is completely gone.

“No,” Oswald admits, taking one last drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground; he watches the gentle rise of smoke for a beat, then uses his heel to snuff out the ash. “I’d use the distraction to kill the Adjudicator. It would be straightforward to blame Management, then propose to the unstable Bowery King that he set his army against the leaderless Continental, as he’s always desired. The High Table gradually loses power in the city, the Bowery King’s numbers dwindle, subsequently leaving a void for the Rogues to take over.”

Ed goes quiet again a few seconds, then barks out a laugh, followed by a voice that’s barely more than a whisper. “Why, Mister Penguin, that sounds like treason.”

“Clever, as always, Mister Riddler,” Oswald says, just as quietly, allowing himself a small smirk at the street.

Ed takes a deep breath, shifting against the brick and starting to stand. “Oswald, I actually wanted to – ”

The door opens with a conspicuous creak, interrupting Ed and prompting them both to look over at the interrupting operator. “Administrator,” she says, her eyes briefly flicking down to Ed, “A call.”

“Oswald,” Ed protests, his voice suddenly hoarse and his hand clutching at Oswald’s sleeve.

“You still have a key,” Oswald says, gently tugging his arm out of the grip without looking and crossing that jamb back into the restrictive skin of the Administrator.

* * *

Oswald should be less surprised than he is to find Ed in his bed. It would have been polite to take the couch, or any of the guest rooms, but no, he’s wrapped up in Oswald’s sheets like a silent taunt. He eyes the lump for a few seconds, then reaches out and smacks at a foot. 

Ed grumbles in response, aware but not quite awake. “You’re in late.”

“Extenuating circumstances,” Oswald says, keeping his voice neutral and wondering if he can really do this, but he’s somehow too tired to yell, so he isn’t being given much of a choice. “The Continental isn’t completely burned down, so any toys you had to leave should be fine.”

“‘at’s good,” Ed hums, then turns around onto his stomach and shoves his face into the pillow.

Oswald stares at Ed’s back for a few seconds, then exhales hard and turns to the window. He shrugs off his jacket while staring down the black, inky shape of the river, then goes for the knot of his tie, loosening it from his neck. He’s too exhausted to really deal with this right now, so starts on his belt while resigning to adding another tick to the bad column in the score of Ed-related judgements.

He yanks the duvet from under Ed, hesitating a moment holding it out before he slips underneath and into the waiting warmth. He’s more startled than he should be when skinny arms wrap around his center to pull him in, a high forehead pressing into his collarbone while a broken, tonal mutter offers unintelligible expressions. He tries to be angry about it, but the option to shove Ed off flits in and out of his tired mind, fading as quickly as the room itself and quickly becoming indistinct and soft.

Oswald wakes rested for the first time in months, sleep unbroken by the usual anxious jerks awake in the middle of the night. The once-familiar sensation of cool fingertips tracing the pattern of a wing up his neck reminds him why, as well as the stretch of a thigh against his own.

“You and Lee going through a rough patch?” He asks, forcing his voice sarcastic, rather than giving in to the stirring rage he suffers every time he thinks about it. He bitterly reminds himself, for the nth time, he was the one who told Ed to get out; he’s still not quite come to terms with the fact Ed actually left, but he has with the fact that testing that particular limit so soon after everything _else_ fell apart was his ultimate folly.

“She’s my _friend_ ,” Ed insists, his voice a little too close to Oswald’s ear and nearly palpable. “But there was a conscious uncoupling.”

Oswald manages to keep his reaction to an eyeroll under his lids.

“Barbara’s pregnant.”

Oswald furrows his brow slightly, having little idea how the two subjects connect… Unless, oh _god_. He opens his eyes at that, staring hard at the ceiling, then sends a wide look over at Ed that he hopes conveys his horror. He should definitely get Ed out of his bed _now_ , certainly out of his life – _Barbara Kean_?

“Yes. Apparently, they’re are all – ” Ed gestures with a whirling hand, eyes rolling around the room to emphasis the absurdity of his imminent announcement. “Together. I missed the development somehow, probably by repressing every time I hear Gordon speak.”

Oswald feels every one of his tensed muscles relax. Thank heavens.

“What’s with that – _oh_ , did you – ?” Ed recoils like Oswald physically smacked him, his expression curdling with disgust. “No! Though Lee did ask me if I wanted to be part of it.” He now looks halfway to gagging, rolling away from Oswald and onto his back with a fed-up gesture at the ceiling. “With _Jim_ _Gordon and Barbara Kean_.”

Oswald can’t help but snort, then covers his face, feeling the laughter grow into something almost hysterical.

“I still can’t believe she offered,” Ed says, his hand hitting the wall with a thwack when he presumably offers another exuberant motion. “I was tempted to counteroffer half of my antipsychotics.”

Oswald shakes his head, dragging his hand down his face to curl loosely over his chest. “It was… polite.”

“A mix of pity and a joke,” Ed disagrees, his voice flat but containing its own share of humor.

“Or perhaps,” Oswald says, pausing slightly to emphasize and attempting to sound reasonable, like a _friend_ , rather than heinously resentful. “It wasn’t?”

Ed goes worryingly silent for a length, then exhales hard, abruptly rolling further away until he’s sitting at the edge of the bed. He’s motionless for a few seconds, visibly thinking, then shoves both his hands in his hair. “I actually wanted to talk to you when it happened, but then,” he takes a deep breath, standing and spreading both arms when he steps up in front of the sliding glass over the balcony. “The _universe_ acts against me.”

Oswald stares at Ed’s back for a few seconds, watching his chest expand and contract beneath a thin undershirt. “Ed?”

“I just wanted to know… ” Ed inhales a sucking sort of breath, not looking back and likely staring at his reflection – potentially an omen to his state of mind. “If you still hate me, or if our time apart has dulled it enough that we could – ”

“ _Ed_ ,” Oswald says, trying to interrupt before he’s forced to hear anything else, an ache winding up tight beneath his sternum. He shoves up too quickly in the bed, prompting a sharp pain to stab through his leg; he squeezes at his knee for a quick moment, cursing the metal within, then throws the duvet off to stand.

“You haven’t yelled or told me to get out again, so I assume it has but,” Ed pauses to drag his teeth over his lower lip with a humorless chuckle. “I appreciate clarity; as you know, I have some difficulty discerning these things.”

Oswald reaches out and takes Ed’s arm, turning him so they’re no longer speaking through reflections. He stares up at Ed’s face, from the tense furrowed brows to the pale line of his lips. “You think I hate you?”

“I know you do,” Ed says, remaining stony faced for a tense pair of seconds while his expression threatens to crumple, blinking rapidly while he takes in a tight breath.

“You don’t know anything,” Oswald says, vaguely aware that his tone is more argumentative than placating, but suddenly he’s fuming – at Ed; at _himself_. He grabs one of Ed’s balled-up hands, forcing it open and pressing a clammy palm to his own wrist, right over the little green question mark he got back when all he really knew about Ed was that he wanted a little bit of him forever. “So I’m _telling_ you right now, I don’t think I even _can_ hate you. And you know I’ve tried.”

Ed visibly swallows, his hand tightening around Oswald’s wrist.

“If this is about… what I said, know I regret every word of it,” Oswald admits, lowering his voice and looking away from Ed’s face, staring instead at the crumpled sleeve of his shirt at the shoulder. “I have since the moment you called my bluff and walked out the door.” He exhales a breathy scoff. “I don’t even remember why I told you to get out.”

Ed is quiet for a worrying length, then tightens his shoulders up as he makes a frustrated noise. “I don’t know if what I remember is actually what you said.”

Oswald drops his chin in a nod, his self-control lasting only a few seconds before he barks out a laugh, briefly closing his other hand around Ed’s on his arm. “Well. Don’t we make a pair.”

Ed responds with a weak huff, entirely lacking any similar humor. “You really should, though,” he mutters, letting go and shifting away with a half-step back, shoulders hunching in a bad impression of a shrug. “After what I let happen.”

Oswald doesn’t quite understand for a beat, his mind scattering in bewilderment before he realizes that Ed must mean what happened to _him;_ he swallows hard at an untimely flicker-flash of rosy glasses, peering down with emotionless countenance, bolting through his mind, and forces his eyes to keep steady while he stares up at Ed. “Have you… thought this whole time that I blamed you?”

“How could you not?” Ed snaps, lifting his hands with a wide gesture, a sharp, grating laugh erupting from him. “You nearly died because of my stupidity! If I had been able to find you, you’d still be – you wouldn’t be forced to work for them! You wouldn’t have been dumped in the river like a – ”

“Ed,” Oswald interrupts, keeping his voice firm while he reaches out and grabs Ed’s arms, drawing both down between them by the wrists. He can’t quite get Ed to catch his eyes, so squeezes hard at the arms in his grasp. “No one except you expects you to be omniscient _._ And I work for them because it is the best place to make it _rot_ from the inside – I told you that when I took the offer, remember? _”_

“I still should have been able to find you,” Ed says, his voice so low it’s almost a rasp, sullen and bitterly steady, clearly believing the words with his usual obsessive, arrogant version of the truth. “I’ve gone over everything that happened after they took you so many times, but I still can’t… It’s like they were toying with me – with your _life_.”

Oswald hesitates a beat before moving, releasing Ed’s hands and stepping forward before Ed can hunch again, wrapping his arms around tight while balling his hands into the thin fabric over Ed’s spine. He presses his face into Ed’s shoulder, relieved when bony fingers clutch back in haste at his shoulders. “That’s the High Table, Ed – the blame is entirely on them, not you.”

Oswald has long been curious as to why or how Ed escaped any retaliation from the High Table after their last, worst misstep in attempts to gain power, but perhaps he simply underestimated their cunning. It’s hardly a secret that Ed’s greatest weakness is the push-pull of trust and distrust in his own mind, and this most recent revelation isn’t even the first time it’s gotten between _them_. Could it be… the deeper, more repulsive purpose of his capture had been to break the trust Ed and he held in each other? It would certainly explain why the High Table interjected itself and offered up a high position so soon after his partial recovery, before he had even come to terms himself with his forced retirement – deflecting suspicion of their role in _crippling_ him while subtly drawing attention to the Rogues’ failure to provide any similar repurpose.

Oswald turns his head to stare out across the skyscrapers to the river, listening to Ed’s heart thump beneath his ear; he loves this view, loves feeling like he owns the city, if only it weren’t for that risk of glancing to the left, straight down to the _Continental_. He grits his teeth and reluctantly pulls away, looking up while lifting his hand to poke at Ed’s chest with a finger. “Do you remember what I said last night? I believe we’re more than due reprisal.”

Ed doesn’t seem to even think, chin immediately dropping in a nod. “Are they still in the city?”

“Under Management’s watchful eye,” Oswald says, tipping his head in that direction – he should probably tell Ed everything that happened, the shifts in the wind, and he might later, texting details about it as an excuse to offer other information in code. “The Continental reluctantly reconsecrated by yours truly. _But_ they will be going out on their own to check on the ripples of the last few days.”

Ed rolls his lips together, eyes gently unfocusing in consideration. “Killing an Adjudicator undetected… that would be a real puzzle.”

“Too much for you?” Oswald asks, feigning disappointment with a slight pout and a pluck at Ed’s shirtfront.

Ed exhales a quiet huff, more sincere than the last; he visibly ponders a few seconds longer, then tuts with a short lean forward on his toes. “You must really be exhausted.”

“Why?” Oswald asks, raising an eyebrow and leaning back on his heels in turn, making a point to glance up and down Ed. “Because I’m thinking about restarting a war I already lost? Or because I’m letting you move back in.”

Ed appears satisfyingly startled for a beat, blinking widely while a smile grows across his face. He looks toward the balcony, humming a few thoughtful notes just before he turns back and abruptly lifts his hand, tapping below Oswald’s good eye, dragging slightly, then pulling back to reveal a blackened fingertip. “Neither. You forgot to take off your face last night – you look like half a ghoul.”

Oswald stares at the finger, then closes his eyes for a quick pair of beats. “I’ve changed my mind – keep living at the hotel.”

Ed theatrically collapses forward, his arms around Oswald’s shoulders and his lips hot like a brand over the tattoo. “But _Oswald_.”

Oswald reluctantly reaches between them to settle his palm flat against Ed’s chest, not quite pushing, but firmly separating himself from that steady expansion of breaths. “I have work.”

“Would you stop saying terrible things?” Ed says, exhaling a heaving sigh before shoving away with a truly exaggerated pout. His expression brightens an instant later, his grin almost predatory, “Do you know what room the Adjudicator is in? I would hate to accidentally drop anything outside their door while I’m moving back.”

**Author's Note:**

> [ An illustrated attempt at what they look like can be found here. ](https://twitter.com/ezlebe/status/1238666246180098048?s=20)~
> 
> Honestly, the last half of this fic went through like four iterations before I remembered Oswald hates any authority, aside for his own.
> 
> ~~I'm not sure the sequel will ever be finished, so the foggy explanation for his position as Administrator is that the High Table thinks they brainwashed him (or maybe he's a sleeper...hm), but Oswald doesn't know that, so obviously I couldn't put it in.~~
> 
> I can be found on the twitters[ @ ezlebe](https://twitter.com/ezlebe?lang=en)


End file.
